


Io Tango

by Mrs_Spooky



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-16
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Spooky/pseuds/Mrs_Spooky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Jet and Spike first meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from my blog, originally published 16-March 2010.

# Io Tango

## A Cowboy Bebop musing by MrsSpooky

Background/assumptions:

How did Jet and Spike meet?

This story takes place mostly in a tavern in a small town on Io.  Cast of characters:  Spike, Jet, random background characters.

_Posted date: 16-Mar-2010_

* * *

Picked up and dropped off another one. 

The tall, beefy bounty hunter slid his card into the waiting slot in the kiosk at the police station, punched the code and collected his reward. Stepping outside, he took a deep breath, breathing in the fresh air of the rapidly advancing evening. It was cooling off rapidly as it often did at night on the outer moons. Jupiter hung low in the sky, waning to a crescent. It was going to be a long night as Io passed into the shadow behind the massive gas giant. _I won't be around long enough to see this place through till morning,_ he thought.

He didn't feel like cooking that night. After a quick look around, he found a tavern nearby that might serve food. _I just got paid, I can treat myself to a dinner that someone else cooked for once._ He steps quickened as the gathering chill cooling the mechanics of his cybernetic left arm made his shoulder ache where it was attached. _I should get that replaced with a natural arm. Hell, it won't take THAT long to save up for it. No, that wasn't going to happen._ That was HIS arm, a grim reminder of foolishness of youth. He touched the metal piece screwed to his right cheekbone, a reminder of an old injury. That too was starting to ache as the chill from the night air transferred from the metal to the bone it was screwed into. _Yeah, I should get that taken care of too._ As he approached the tavern, he had a fleeting thought to wonder why he held onto his disfigurements, but the thoughts vanished when he opened the tavern door.

Jet walked in and looked around. The place smelled of stale cigarette smoke, booze and ersatz Martian cuisine. Nice. _I take myself to the nicest places,_ Jet thought to himself bitterly. There weren't a lot of people in the place, just a few scattered here and there. One table in the corner on the left was occupied by three geezers playing cards, cursing and swapping whoppers. To the right, a table with a half dozen very large, rowdy patrons who had availed themselves of too much of the tavern's beverages. Straight ahead at left end of the bar sat a lone figure. Yeah, the place was hoppin'.

Sighing, Jet picked a seat at the opposite end of the bar. The bartender, an attractive young woman, presented him with a menu that looked to be pretty standard fare. He made his selection and ordered a Cowboy (bourbon and milk) then planted his elbows on the bar to wait for his food. His drink was delivered, and he noted with some disgust at the first sip that the bourbon that was used had been watered down. Sigh. Jet wasn't given to brooding, but he found himself doing just that. It was 6 years since she left him without explanation. There was a numbness that wouldn't go away, and if he thought about it, he noticed the numbness, which frankly pissed him off so he thrust it aside like he had done so many times before.

Not having much to do while waiting for his food, he started furtively looking around at the other people in the place. The geezers were cursing up a storm, the rowdy table was getting louder. Jet took a quick assessment of the argument that was brewing and it looked like it could get ugly fast. _Well, not my problem._ His attention wandered to the lone figure who sat quietly at the other end of the bar. Jet couldn't make out what he was drinking, but the young man didn't seem to be enjoying it. _Heh, if his is anything like what I got, there's nothing TO enjoy._ He was a young kid, Japanese, didn't look to be much out of his teens. Long of limb, very thin with a lot of hair that curled around his face. _He could use a haircut,_ Jet thought, but decided it suited his fine, slender features. Ruefully, he ran his hand over his own bald head, remembering the hair that used to grow there. Trying not to stare, he could see that the boy had a faraway look on his face that struck him as sad. _Yeah, we all have our stories, don't we kid?_

The bartender brought the loner the bowl of soup that he had apparently ordered. The young man flashed her a dazzling smile in thanks. Blush. Giggle. _Oh geeze, I can see my service is going to be great. I take myself to the nicest places._ Grumble.

As expected, the bartender gravitated to the loner's end of the bar, trying to engage him in conversation. Amazingly, he didn't seem all that taken with her. He was pleasant enough and probably even liked her, but she clearly wasn't getting anywhere with him. Finally Jet's food was ready and she had her shit together enough to deliver it to him.

Jet dug into his food. _So much for dinner out_ , he thought. It wasn't great, but it would fill him up. Just get back to the Bebop and get the hell out of here.

As he ate, Jet was aware of the increasing noise level from the rowdy table. Angry, drunken voices were raised, large, muscular bodies rising from their seats. The angriest one started shoving the object of his ire. The LAST thing Jet was interested in was getting involved in a bar fight. Glancing over, he saw that the loner seemed to be similarly ignoring the ruckus. The tavern's manager upon hearing the noise hurried out to try to calm things down. He was a short, slight, balding man wearing a suit that was made for someone larger than him who failed at calming them down. Angry guy swung at his target and connected, sending the man reeling - right into the loner. The loner had spoon halfway to his face when the body hit him from behind, the man's elbow connecting square with his kidney. That had to hurt. Soup splashed off the spoon all over loner's hand. 

The loner coolly shook the hot liquid from his hand, unwound his length from the stool, turned and faced the argument head on. This warranted attention, Jet thought, and he swiveled around on his seat to watch. The loner was tall. His height would be no match though for the bruisers that faced him, because by his standing up, he now had their full attention, their argument forgotten. Six huge drunk guys, one skinny kid. Jet did the math, and hating to see someone so vastly outnumbered and out muscled, prepared himself to wade in and help out if he could. He sighed.

The loner had a sardonic smile on his face, no fear at all. "I'm sorry, was I in your way? Please pardon my interfering with your falling on your ass." 

Jet groaned. _A wise guy. Shit! Cocky idiot!_

The man who threw the punch knocking the bruiser into the loner made his way over to him to stare him down. Loner stared back, still smiling. Words were exchanged, the skinny kid not backing off, almost taunting the drunken wild-eyed hulk in front of him. The hulk's companions had taken interest and gathered around. It dawned on drunken angry guy that the tall skinny kid wasn't afraid of him, so he brought in reinforcements. 

"Hey dipshit, in case you can't count, there are six of us and only one of you!"

Jet couldn't believe it when he heard the skinny kid tell him, "So go and get a few more guys and we'll make it an even fight.  I'll wait." 

Groan.

Now furious, the hulk swung at the loner and… missed!

  


* * *

 

   
  
---  
  
© 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016- stories by MrsSpooky are owned by MrsSpooky, but based on Cowboy Bebop. Spike Spiegel, Jet Black, the ship Bebop, images and cultural universe are owned by Sunrise Studios, Inc.  God bless you, Hajime Yatate!! The stories themselves and original characters not from the show are mine.  
             See you space cowboy ...    
  
---


	2. Chapter 2

It had been three months since he died.

A year previous, with the horror that had become his life, he found someone on an obscure asteroid who could help him create a new identity for himself. He obtained a fraudulent registration for his asteroid speeder, driver's and pilot's license, ID, passport, weapons permit, and hell, even school transcripts. With this new ID, he opened a bank account with an institution with a branch on Mars. He lived frugally, putting half of what he earned into this account so he'd have it. He had to get out. He could feel himself going numb inside with the soul-killing job that he had, terrorising often innocent people, all in the service of the syndicate. A soldier, he'd get his orders and carry them out, risking punishment if he didn't - a beating for himself, harm to one of his crew, or death - if he didn't fulfill his mission. How did this happen? This has to be hell, if not the worst nightmare ever. Is this where I belong? Is this really me? Or is this all just a dream? It has to be a nightmare, it can't be real.

Spike's greatest blessing in life had turned out to be his worst curse. He fell in love with his partner's girlfriend. Even worse, she fell in love with him too. Of course they were caught. He tried to apologize to his partner, explain things - it wasn't intended, it just… happened. Vicious wouldn't listen. A cold distant person to everyone but Spike had turned cold to him too. A few months later, Spike had gotten a message to meet her one evening, but an anonymous phone call tipped him off that it was instead an ambush. 

This is good. 

_The only way out of this life is to die. I'll die and then I'll be free_. That afternoon he visited Julia to tell her he was getting out, try to convince her to come with him. She was reluctant, knowing the fate of anyone who tries to leave the syndicate Spike had found himself involved with. 

"They'll kill you," she said. 

"I'll let them say I'm dead. Meet me at the graveyard, of course I will be alive."

He had to maintain the illusion that he thought he was meeting Julia, so he stopped and picked up a dozen red roses. They will work well to hide the machine gun he was carrying. There was time to kill, so he leaned against a wall several blocks from the meeting place and burned through a half pack of cigarettes until it was time. It was cold and rainy that night, the chill, damp gloom matching his spirit.

It was time. He marched off to meet his fate for good or ill.   _Either I'll pull this off or I'll be dead, either way I'm out._  Spike was an apt student taught by one of the finest military veterans to be found. He was confident he'd come out of this alive. Shots were fired, Spike fired back, spraying his would be assassins with bullets, picking them off two at a time. He had taken a few hits himself, the pain galvanising him. Now for the ticket out - he pulled a bomb out of his coat pocket and flipped the timer. Laying down suppressive gunfire, he dropped the explosive and ran like hell. The resulting blast demolished half the building and everyone inside. The heat and pressure from the blast nearly knocked him from his feet, but he kept running.

He was alive. He made his way to the doctor he knew who would patch him up without asking questions then made his way to the graveyard, hoping upon hope that she would be there. 

An hour passed. Two.   _Can't wait any longer. I'll be seen and this all will have been for nothing._

She wasn't coming, he was on his own. Totally alone. Everyone he knew, loved and trusted would have to believe he was dead if he was going to make it. He made his way to the Swordfish II and left Mars. His first stop was at an asteroid colony, where he took out every proof of identity he had and incinerated it. He watched it burn, and with it, his life. His past. All connections he had made in life was being reduced to ash. It was all a dream, he thought. It no longer exists. Gone. A mixture of feelings he could barely identify swirled through him like water through a stream, lost to the ocean that was their destination. He let them flow over and through him, then shrugged it off. The proof of the false identity he had created was stuffed into his pockets. Spike Spiegle, who had been conceived months earlier, was born. 

It didn't take long for him to realise he didn't have a plan. No, his plan was to run away with Julia, to be together and live their lives together like they were watching dream. Another dream was forming, one that was shaping up to be a cold, lonely, hungry one if he didn't have money, and that was quickly running out. Gate tolls, food and housing were eating up what he had been able to save. Spike was able to win money at the casinos he visited because of his special eye and tricks he learned from older friends as he was growing up, but one can't live on that forever. Complicating things were the nightmares. Sleep brought little peace when visions of what had happened before would rise up, giving substance to horrors he couldn't face.

After a few months of wandering, Spike found himself on Io, in a small town he'd never heard of. He always wanted to travel the system but this is not what he had in mind. He had enough money for a drink and a cheap meal and he knew he'd be sleeping in the Swordfish II for a while until he could get more money from somewhere. He had some left to cover tolls through the gates to… somewhere. Then what?

He found a tavern that looked like it wasn't too busy. The last thing he wanted was to be around a lot of people. The less people knew about him the better. He only had a few months with this identity, and it wasn't safe to talk. Not yet. He opened the door to an only moderately decrepit tavern. Not many people here, which was good. Just some old guys playing cards, bullshitting and cursing at each other and a bunch of beefy drunks at a table making a lot of noise. Spike walked straight to the bar and took a seat at the left. 

The bartender was an attractive young lady. Very nice. Giggly, but nice. He looked at the menu, selected the soup, which looked to be the least offensive item they had. Also a bourbon. She brought the drink, and of course it was watered down. Sigh.

While he was waiting for his soup, the door opened and someone else had come in.    _I hope it doesn't start getting busy in here._  He didn't feel like dealing with people, he was wrapped up in his own thoughts and didn't want to be disturbed. The new arrival seated himself at the opposite end of the bar.   _Good. Just stay there._  Spike tried to work his way through his drink, but noticed the new arrival was checking him out. His cybernetic eye had a feature that greatly expanded his peripheral vision, so even looking straight ahead, he could clearly see objects and movement far to his right.

The new arrival ordered a drink and something off the menu. Years of experience from his life with the syndicate had Spike on heightened alert to what was going on around him. He noticed the new arrival was spending too much time looking at him, which got his attention. Feigning indifference, he watched the newcomer to see what he was up to. He was a BIG guy. Massive, mechanical arm, scarred, bald, face ringed by a beard without a moustache. He wore a jumpsuit so he must be a pilot.   _What is that metal plate on his face?_  His whole demeanor just screamed "cop," and not the cops he was used to dealing with either, the ones who would sell intelligence for chump change, but the honest kind of cop. Ok, this could be trouble.  _Honest cop and he sees me._

Soup arrived. Smile at the bartender, she WAS awfully cute.   _Sorry honey, I'm taken. I'll never see her again, but I belong to Julia._ He exchanged pleasantries with her for a bit, but declined to get involved.  _Not interested and I can't afford it._

The noisy table started getting physical.   _Not my problem._  Just keep eating, pay the tab, hit the Swordfish and get out of here. The manager comes out and tries to cool things off, but the poor guy was a shrimp, they won't listen to him. Spike could see the reflection of what was going on in the mirror behind the bar. He watched with mild interest as a scuffle ensued, and someone was thrown into his back, elbow catching him in the area of his kidney as he was raising spoon to face, causing him to slosh hot soup on his hand . Ok, that hurt.   _Now I'm pissed._

He shook the liquid from his hand and stood up, facing the drunk who hit him, "I'm sorry, was I in your way? Please pardon my interfering with your falling on your ass." 

Someone, who must be the guy who hit him, approaches and starts hurling insults. He thinks he and his friends are big enough to take him.  _Great, bring it on, I can use the workout._  Reflexively, Spike relaxes. The guy swung at him but Spike dodged easily. He doesn't even think as muscle memory takes over. Elbows, knees feet, fists, grasping hands were in play. All are beaten off, sent reeling. By now the cop at the other end of the bar had gotten up and asked if he can help. 

"Can you get the door?" 

Obligingly, the big guy heads over to the door and opens it wide, holding it wisely standing well out of the way outside. The troublemakers are kicked one by one out the door onto their asses onto the sidewalk outside. Spike followed them out to give them a warning, "You guys have had way too much to drink. Go home. Sleep it off. Oh, and I suggest you never come here again. That might not be healthy."


	3. Chapter 3

Damn!

Here he thought he was going to have to rescue the kid from a certain pummeling, and he winds up pummeling THEM. Cocky, sure, but he could back it up. He even looked like he was enjoying himself. The drunks had hurried off, apparently frightened by something they saw in the kid's face. Jet saw it too and he recognised it, syndicate for sure. Very well trained in martial arts and the art of intimidation. His manner outside the tavern was one that would NOT be messed with without horrible consequences, he must be an enforcer. During his years in the ISSP, Jet had known (and arrested) dozens of them, punks, all of them. This guy didn't look like a punk. He had wild green hair, blue suit with a wide-collared yellow shirt, open at the neck, black tie loosely tied and tucked into his modern Chinese style jacket. He looked more like he should be at a nightclub collecting girls.

The manager came out from the office he had scurried to for cover and offered to buy him his dinner.

"It's not much, but you cleaned up what could have been a mess and I want to show my appreciation." 

" Sure!"

He picked out some items that he thought he could get down and made a move to return to his seat at the bar. Jet stopped him.

"Hey, feel like some company? Let's get a table." 

"Sure, why not?"

That pleased Jet for some reason. A syndicate enforcer out here in the middle of nowhere had to be up to something or running away. The cop in Jet wanted to know which it was. Plus, he decided he wanted someone to talk to.

Jet selected a table at the opposite end of the tavern from the geezers who had resumed their card game and steady stream of cursing after the excitement from a few minutes before. The young man took a seat against the wall, Jet parked opposite him.

"I'm Jet Black." 

Slight hesitation, "Spike Spiegle. How ya doin'?"

Spiegle? Interesting name for a Japanese kid. Has to be a fake, he's on the run for sure.

The two men started chatting, feeling each other out. While he was talking, Jet caught sight of Spike's eyes. They didn't match. Two different shades of brown. There was something about his right eye that was just… indefinable. Spike was definitely easy to look at, but those eyes were unsettling and he couldn't take his eyes off them. Spike noticed and just smiled.

"It's cybernetic. I lost the real one in an accident. You wouldn't believe what I can see with it. It's come in handy on more than one occasion."

He didn't feel the need to mention the peripheral vision. Not yet. Embarrassed, Jet apologized for staring, but Spike just shrugged. Doesn't matter. Whatever.

Spike was pleasant enough and Jet found himself enjoying his company. The kid was laid back, easygoing, great sense of humor. He didn't learn much else from him other than he was from Mars. "So where are you headed? Got any plans?"

The younger man just shrugged. "Nothing special," he said vaguely, "just touring the system."

Jet was just now realising his growing dissatisfaction with the life, the self-imposed exile from society that he had chosen for himself. Man can't live alone. He found himself asking Spike if he would be interested in hunting bounties with him.

"Come with me. It's kind of a vagabond life, aboard ship in space for most of it, traveling around, never staying in one place for too long. You get to meet the most interesting people. Catch them, bring them in, collect the reward."

Spike for his part was hesitant. Bounty hunting sounded interesting, and he did like the cop he had been chatting with. Spending time on Jet's ship and traveling around did appeal to him. If he had done things right, nobody would be looking for him anyway, thinking he was dead. Hopefully before long anyone looking for him will give him up for dead. In the mean time, yeah, he could do this.

Jet continued, "It's dangerous work, but it can be rewarding. Bounty hunters get shot at a lot, and sometimes killed."

Spike wasn't phased by this last piece of news. He just smiled. "I've already died once. That's not a problem."

"Is that how you escaped from the syndicate? Which one, Red Dragon?"

Spike's face registered surprise, am I THAT transparent? Shit! He found himself wanting to go with the big guy, but how can he hang with a cop? That's all he needed, get away from one prison and wind up in another, this one with bars.

"Is that your police training talking?"

Jet chuckled at that. "I guess it is. I've met and arrested a number of enforcers while working in the organized crime division, and I can eventually spot them. You got my attention with how you handled those thugs earlier. You're different though, you got out. You must have been pretty high up to have to die to do it, and that takes serious balls. Very few people can pull that off." Jet leaned forward and looked at him earnestly. "So what do you think? Need a place to stay? Some company? A job? How much longer is your money going to hold out?"

He WANTS me to come with him? In talking with Jet, Spike got the definite impression that this was a good, decent, honest man who had been disappointed one too many times and turned to bounty hunting as a way out of the life he had. I could do a lot worse and yes, I need a place to stay. He felt like he needed someone like that in his life anyway, even if just for a little while. Company would be nice, a job even better. Dangerous? Sounds like fun. He considered it for a few moments and decided he could trust this man.

"So where's your ship?"

By now, Spike had polished off the plates of food that had been placed before him. They rose from the table and Jet just said, "Follow me."


	4. Chapter 4

Jet was kicking himself for blurting out that he knew Spike was a syndicate escapee.

He climbed into the Hammerhead and saw Spike loading himself into a sleek, flashy, red asteroid speeder. He sighed heavily. I blew it. He's just going to take off. I wouldn't blame him if he did. He launched and headed to where the Bebop would be parked in orbit. He really liked the kid and hoped he would come with him. He was good company and wouldn't talk his ear off. He didn't blame his reticence, considering his past. That's best left alone, he decided. IF he comes with me.

He reached the Bebop in short order and opened the barn door to the landing bay. He turned the Hammerhead around to back in and was gratified to see the red speeder right behind him. Jet pulled the Hammerhead to one side, making room for the speeder. The pilot had turned his ship around and eased into the opening, alighting near the Hammerhead. The door closed and the room pressurised. Both men climbed out of their respective pods.

Jet's new companion looked around, pulled out a cigarette then looked at him questioningly. In response, Jet pulled one out and lit up. Spike followed suit. He smiled, "Grab your gear, I'll show you to your quarters." Spike opened a hatch to the storage area on his speeder and pulled out a large duffle bag and a tattered grey messenger bag that looked like it was holding some books.

"We have a number of open quarters. It was just me so you have your pick. I'll show you my quarters. This way." Spike followed Jet through the ship, taking it all in. It was ancient and somewhat shabby, but then, it looked to be a fishing boat, not a luxury liner. That was fine with him. Jet led him to a small room. The bunk had been swung up against the wall, revealing storage boxes underneath that doubled as seating. The rest of the space was taken up by lights and shelving that held an array of bonsai. Exquisitely cultivated and shaped little trees. Spike moved closer to get a better look at them.

"They're beautiful!" 

Jet was pleased. "It's a hobby. Whiles away the time."

Spike smiled at his new companion's obvious pride in his bonsai. A guy who looked like Jet didn't seem to be the type to spend time sculpting miniature trees. There was more to this guy than meets the eye.

"All I ask is you don't touch the bonsai. Not that you WOULD, but…" 

Spike held up his hands, "Not a chance. Bonsai is not one of my skills and I don't want to ruin them on you."

Not one of my skills? Hmmm.

Spike had selected a room not far from Jet's, just a few steps down the corridor. He deposited his belongings on the bunk then followed Jet as he showed him around his new home. Making their way to the living area, Jet told Spike to make himself at home. Jet was getting tired after a long day and he wanted to break orbit to head to the asteroid belt where he had word the next bounty he was after could be found.

He left Spike to his own devices as he climbed the stairs to the bridge. He punched in the coordinates, cleared his leaving with Io's space authority and made way to the nearest gate. They had several hours to kill before they arrived and Jet, feeling almost like a kid at Christmas, headed back to the living area to chat some more with his new friend.

Spike had made himself at home all right. He found the young man sprawled out on the couch, sound asleep. Must have been a long day for him too, he thought. At least he's not going to talk my ear off. Can't stand yappy people. With that, he headed to Spike's quarters and grabbed a blanket and covered the sleeping young man. Then he made his way to his own quarters to get some shuteye before rounding up the next bounty.


End file.
